


When Dawn Breaks...

by T_WolfXD



Series: A Beautiful Day and Night [1]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: I cannot stress this enough, M/M, No spoilers but be prepared, hanahaki, hanahaki disease au, not canon whatsoever, read my tumblr for more info
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 09:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26969563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/T_WolfXD/pseuds/T_WolfXD
Summary: The moon must fall.It'd always been like this for the four of them. Arrive at midnight, scoop up the monitor and check the doors, scram at six. As maniacal as Vincent was, he could do that. Perhaps his attitude towards the job was less...worriedthan the others, but still. His pranks didn't go too far.And... this had to be a prank as well, surely? It had to.Yet the flowers were real. Thepainwas real.And it wasn't going away.
Relationships: Purple Guy/Mike Schmidt
Series: A Beautiful Day and Night [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968100
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	1. 11 P.M.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for stopping by!  
> Also posted to my tumblr, find more info about my works there: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fnaficsfordays

A hum was resonating from his throat as he sauntered down the sidewalk, towards the building. Hands in pockets, sickly grin stretching across his face, silvery eyes glittering with a combination of malice and insanity. He could feel the judging, piercing gazes of all the passerby as they moved out of his way, instinctually parting as he made his way to the pizzeria.

The only thing that caught his attention was a small child, riding in their parents arms, thumb in mouth. As they passed, he let his smile soften a bit, fading to something warmer. It was a fleeting look, but he managed to see the warning glare come across the parent’s face as they turned the kid away. He inwardly chuckled, a spark of amusement in his head as he rolled his eyes.

He finally reached the door, opening it with a lazy push. The glass swung open as he strolled through the hallway, spinning around as his gaze landed on the posters dotting the walls. Making his way through, he arrived in a small, dimly lit office with a desk and chair. He calmly glanced around, examining his nails until finally looking up at the clock. 11:57. Right on time to start setting things up.

He scooped up the monitor, turning it on and flipping through the cameras. Nothing was moving yet, except for two people in a similar room at the opposite side of the blueprint, in a room similar to his own. His smirk returned as he picked up the walkie-talkie sitting on the desk, pressing a button as he started to talk.

“Ready for another night, fuckers?” On the monitor, he could see one of them jump as he spoke, while the other shook their head. Even from the fuzzy screen he could see them scoop up a similar device.

“ _Good to know you’re here, Vincent._ ” The lack of dripping sarcasm while still delivering a sarcastic tone made him chuckle. “ _Michael hasn’t arrived yet?_ ”

“Mmmnope. Not in the office, at least.” He leaned back in the swivel chair, eyes darting to the clock for a split second. 11:58. “He’d better hurry though, else this’ll be boring.”

“ _Hopefully it’s only traffic keeping him up. Good night._ ”

Vincent shook his head as the click resonated from the speaker, the conversation abruptly coming to a halt. He pressed his own button again, turning off the machine. “Bitches.” The word was murmured out loud, even though he knew it wouldn’t carry over. “As if we’ve got a choice in whether or not it’s a ‘good night’...”

He dropped the walkie-talkie back on the table, tapping his foot on the ground as he waited for midnight to hit. His mind was itching with boredom as he watched the digits slowly change. 11:59, just a couple more seconds away…

Finally. 12:00 AM. The fun would begin for real.

But still no sign of Michael. Did he decide that he didn’t want to risk death for a single night? Shame, having no one near to use his antics with was no fun. Scott was too high-strung and stoic for it, Jeremy was sensitive and he’d get backlash from the former. Who else did he have to fuck around with?

Flicking on lights, shutting doors, opening doors, shutting them again, turning on more lights… he could probably do it in his sleep at this point. It would probably end with him never waking up again, but still, if it was while he was already unconscious… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Better than getting a “fright” while awake, anyways.

“ _Vincent, stop picking up the monitor so much. It’s only 12:20._ ”

He rolled his eyes as he scooped up the walkie-talkie. “Yeah, yeah, lowering power, still got over five hours left, blah blah blah. Same thing every night. I got this.”

A sigh crackled over the speaker. “ _Still no sign of Michael?_ ”

“Nah. In fact, he might’ve just gotten in a car crash, you know-”

“ _Vincent._ ”

“Still probably a better death than this place, whatever it’s worth. I mean, he _could’ve_.”

“ _Vincent, stop it._ ”

“You guys are no fun.” He rolled his eyes. “As if impending death looming over your shoulder is anything new around here.”

Another click. He tossed the walkie-talkie back onto the desk, spinning around in his chair. This was the most boring shift _ever_. Was Michael going to show up or what? Nearly half an hour in, and still nothing. Maybe he actually _had_ landed himself in a hospital one way or another. Quite unfortunate if he had to actually spend the rest of his life doing these shifts without any entertainment.

Suddenly, sharp tapping could be heard against the right door. He lazily raised a hand to the light switch- although, when he used it, he couldn’t see anything outside. He was about to let go and just return to looking at the monitor, when he heard a voice outside.

“Vincent, let me in.” It was a sharp whisper, one that made his maniacal grin widen slightly.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you~” He could imagine Michael’s eye roll from behind the door as he spoke again.

“Vincent, just fucking raise the door before Chica comes down. I don’t want to play a waiting game.”

“Well, if you’re worried about Chica, I could just take this time to check where she is with the monitor-”

“Oh my fucking _god_ you-”

“Patience, patience! I just gotta be sure~” Vincent snickered as he heard the loud sigh. “And if you don’t want her to come quicker, you should really keep your voice down, you know.”

He could hear the string of curses as he lazily flicked through the cameras, taking his time as he looked for each and every animatronic. He could feel Michael’s irritation growing as he kept tapping, eyes darting up every now and then. “Perfect timing too- and here I was, thinking that the shift was going to be boring.”

“Yeah, yeah, just fucking hurry up. I can _hear_ the _footsteps_ , Vincent-”

His grin grew wider. “How close?”

“They’re getting _closer_.”

“Mmm, but just _how_ close?”

“Shut the fuck up and just let me _in_ , for god’s sake-”

“God’s sake means nothing to an agnostic, Michael-”

“ _She’s right there!_ ”

The sudden hiss, filled with panic, made him finally toss the monitor aside. “Oh?”

“ _She’s coming down the hallway- let me in, just fucking-!_ ”

“No need to be pushy.” He slapped a hand on the button, and a blur rushed through as soon as the door opened. He lazily tapped the switch again, the door sliding down on a metal face just a yard away.

He slowly turned around to look at the person still panting on the floor. He casually pushed over the swivel chair, all the while maintaining his smirk. “About time you got into the office. Quite late, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, I fucking noticed, alright.” Michael snapped, pushing himself off the tiles with the chair. “Don’t fucking do that again.”

“Wouldn’t have if you weren’t late.”

He shook his head, swiping up the monitor. “Asshole.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” He chuckled. “Scott was also wondering when you’d get here, you know.”

He glared at him for a moment before picking up the walkie-talkie, pressing the button. “Scott, I just arrived.”

“ _Michael? Good, good. Difficulties getting in?_ ”

“Yeah, but they were mostly caused by this bastard.”

“ _Of course they were._ ”

“I’m so _flattered~_ ”

“ _Shut up._ ” They spoke in unison, making his grin widen as he backed away, hands up.

“ _Anyways, good to hear you’re here, and good night._ ” A small click, and Scott was gone.

Vincent cleared his throat as he walked back over. “What a greeting, huh?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “One of these days, I’ll be driven insane in this place, and it’s _not_ going to be the animatronics’ fault.”

“I know, isn’t Scott such a bitch?”

“Shut the fuck up, you know I’m not talking about Scott.” He swatted at his arm. “At least I only have five hours to spend in here with you.”

He chuckled. “Aren’t you doing so peachy.”

“As peachy as I can be when I’m working with a living grape.”

“Exactly!”

He shook his head, although Vincent could see just the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re lucky I’m the only one that can stand you.”

“I know, how else would I spend the shift? _Not_ being a scourge against mortality?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“Nah, sounds boring.”

“Deadly animatronics aren’t enough company?”

“As if. They’re as stiff as Scott.”

Michael snorted. “Sure it is. You’re just fucked in the head.”

“I sure am.”

“Of course.” He rolled his eyes. “This company’s standards are six feet under since they still accepted _you_.”

“And so are yours when you’ve been on the night shift with me for eight months.” He flicked his arm. “How much longer do you think we’ll last here?”

“I’d give it half a year before I’m driven off the rails, and that’s if I’m lucky and you get knocked off first.”

“Aww, come on. The animatronics love me!”

“Sure they do. Seeing someone as fucked up as they are every night.”

“We’re both insane enough when we can do this so casually.”

“The only one ‘casual’ about the night shift around here is you.”

“Keep on telling yourself that.” Vincent smirked. “It’s a bit late for it to be true.”

Michael didn’t respond to that, only lightly slapping his hand. He laughed, strolling away, hands behind his back. _A point for me tonight._


	2. 12 A.M.

“That’s balanced… now, if I could get _three…_ ”

“This is so fucking dangerous.”

“All the better! I'm almost there-”

“It’s almost certainly going to fall.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Actually, I think I do.”

“And… there we go, bitch. Come again?”

“You’ve still got _three more_ that you’re trying to get on there.”

“So what, fucker?”

Michael snorted as he watched Vincent lift another knife onto the slowly growing tower, silver eyes narrowed in rare concentration. He held the last two in his own hands, watching as his fingers grew closer to the top knife. “I don’t even know how you’ve made it this far already- I don’t know how it was physically possible to even stack the _first_.”

“I tend to break laws a lot, if you haven’t noticed.” He smirked. “Kind of my specialty- and hey! There’s knife number four.”

“What a fucking power.” Michael rolled his eyes as he handed over another knife. “I wasn’t that surprised that you were carrying around six knives, but seriously?”

“As serious as a stack of knives that could come crashing down at any moment.”

“Of course.”

A clearing of the throat behind them made him turn around, looking at a familiar masked person. “Good night, Scott.”

A disappointed sigh echoed from within the rotary phone as he shook his head. The expressionless demeanor of the mask told of his thoughts. “I won’t… ask for an explanation. But don’t come running to my office if either of you get injured.”

“Yeah, yeah, got it.” Vincent said, eyes still fixed on the knives. “As if I’d cut myself this far in. Go big or go home right now.”

“I have a feeling you’ll be going to the hospital, but whatever you say.” Scott kept on walking, exiting out the other side as he disappeared into the hallway.

“Whatever I say indeed, bitch.” He muttered. “I’m going to get all these knives stacked, just you watch.”

“That, or you’ll be bleeding from a dozen cuts everywhere.” Michael frowned for a moment. “Wait… is your blood also purple, or-”

“Red, it’s still red.” He chuckled. “One of the very first tests I ever went through after being born. But really, everything underneath the exterior is normal.”

“Careful.” He said suddenly, watching the tip of the knife grow closer to the top. “If they fall at this point-”

“They _won’t_. I’ve got this- in fact, I’ll finish before the shift even actually begins!”

“Will you?” Michael glanced at the clock. It was 11:57. “There’s only three minutes left.”

“Three minutes for a single knife. I’ll get it up there in no time.” Vincent took the last knife from him, smirking as he looked at the tower, now standing with five knives. “Let’s do this.”

_And I’ll watch not knowing if I should knock them over, knock you over, or just stay completely put._

His attention slipped away as he unconsciously chose the third option, thoughts drifting off. How was he actually balancing the knives? It had been a shock to see him managing to just balance one on the table by the very tip of the handle, let alone putting on another. Perhaps he’d just taken a very, very extensive class on literally everything about knives. Knowing Vincent, it wouldn’t be a shock.

Hanging out with a convicted murderer that had killed as a teenager, with six knives, in an isolated room with no one else nearby. Definitely not a smart idea by any chance, but he’d been doing it for over half a year at this point. Maybe not with the knives, but who knew? Michael wouldn’t be surprised if he’d brought all these knives with him to every shift, and was just now finding a “purpose” for them.

“ _Bingo_.” The excited whisper drew his attention back to the present. Vincent was standing in front of the tower, now complete with all six knives, balanced tip to tip, handle to handle. The top knife was only a few inches from touching the ceiling, not an inch of it wobbling in the slightest.

“I’m guessing you wouldn’t allow me to touch the table for the rest of the shift.”

“Not right now, I wouldn’t.” His eyes were gleaming as he looked it up and down. “If anyone’s going to knock it over, it’ll be me and me only.”

“...Can I at least pick up the monitor?”

Vincent slowly, carefully, reached for the screen, lifting it up from the desk with both hands. “Here you go.”

“At least we won’t get killed by the animatronics after this, then.” Michael received it with an inward sigh of relief.

“ _So you actually did it without it falling, huh?_ ” Scott’s voice buzzed from the walkie-talkie. “How do you plan on getting all of them down?”

“That’s easy. Literally all it’ll take is a single touch.” He snorted. “You’re acting like I didn’t plan this whatsoever.”

“ _Are you seriously going to tell me that you’ve thought about stacking six knives, in depth, before you got to the pizzeria?_ ”

“So what if I _did_? I know my stuff around knives, that should have been obvious.” Vincent shrugged.

“Not so in-depth that you would be able to literally balance them _vertically_ without having to start over at all.” Michael muttered.

“Well, I do, and both of you can stop talking your heads off.” He chuckled. “It’s 12 AM, so there’s more to worry about now.”

“ _There is indeed a lot more to worry about for you two know. If an animatronic causes too many vibrations as they’re coming towards your office, those knives won’t stand a chance._ ”

“Won’t have to take it down myself, then.”

“ _...Fair. But this was still an idiotic activity to do with your knives._ ”

“You’re just jealous- and he’s gone.” Vincent pressed the button on the walkie-talkie, shutting it off. “Well, do you want to do the honors, or shall I?”

“What?”

He nodded at the tower. “Gonna touch it?”

Michael eyed the metal blades. “Not unless you can find a meter stick for me to poke it with. You are not convincing me to get that close to it.”

“Shame.” He smirked. “Eh, I think I’ll wait to see how long it can stand. Wonder how good of a job I did.”

“What, backing away?”

“Oh, I’ll knock it down if it’s still up by the end of the shift. But I want to see if the animatronics’ footsteps can knock it down first.”

“Sure you are. You were so confident about knocking it over yourself earlier, and now you’re not?”

“Calling me a coward?” A maniacal gleam flashed in his silver irises.

“You said it, not me.”

“Oh, that is _such_ a dare.”

“Is it?”

“You tell me.” He took a step closer to the tower, never breaking eye contact.

He rolled his eyes. “Do whatever you will. I’m just saying, you said you would push it down-”

“A dare it _is_!”

Before Michael could respond, the tower broke. Instinct taking over, he dropped the monitor, lunging for Vincent as panic spiked in his heart. He roughly shoved him out of the way, gripping his shoulders tightly as the knives came clattering down, right where he had been standing. The metal clanged against the tile floor and desk, coming to a rest just as quickly as they had fallen.

He stood still for a moment, taking in deep breaths as he stared at the pile now on the floor, glittering innocuously in the dim light. After a moment, he finally turned back to look at the person he was still holding onto.

“You are so _fucking insane_ sometimes!”

“You _said_ I could do whatever I wanted-”

“And _you_ know that’s not what I _meant_!”

“Hey, I said I would knock them down, did you expect something else-”

“Goddamnit, maybe give a warning, for fucks sake!”

“I wasn’t going to just stay in that spot you know, I still value my own life-”

“It is _impossible_ to tell with you, you fucking _know_ that, don’t just do it without _telling_ me and looking like you’re _trying_ to lose an eye!”  
Michael barely noticed how loud his voice had been until Vincent didn’t respond, the silence echoing through the open doorways. He hefted a sigh, his glare softening ever so slightly. “ _No more knife towers, got it_?”

“Okay, okay, jeez.” He muttered. “A bit of an overreaction, I’m still fine-”

“Was it?” He snapped. “Would you really have been able to move out of the way in time?”

“Fine, fine, fine. Maybe not.” Vincent raised his hands in surrender. “But, uh, you can let go of me now…?”

Shaking his head slightly, Michael loosened his tight grip, letting go of his shoulders as he backed away. Vincent walked away from against the wall, a slightly stunned expression still on his face.

A static cough gained their attention from the walkie-talkie on the chair. “ _So, that’s over…?_ ”

“Yeah, yep, it is.” Vincent quickly scooped it up.

“...Sure.” Michael muttered.

“ _Then let’s try to continue the rest of the night without any further incident, alright?_ ”

“We can _try _.”__

__“We’ll be fine, we’ll be fine.” Vincent set the walkie-talkie back on the desk. He glanced back at Michael. “Promise.”_ _

__“Do you?” He murmured. He doubted Vincent had even heard, but he didn’t care. He set the knives back on the desk, sitting down in the chair, arms crossed._ _

__It was an eerily tense silence between them as the minutes went by. There wasn’t a single peep from Vincent during the time, as the shift continued. The only sounds to be truly heard were the footsteps of the animatronics and the shutting and lifting of the metal doors._ _

__Part of Michael was starting to worry a bit from the unusual “peace” that had befell them- it wasn’t like this type of scenario was _new_ to either of them, by any chance. Vincent always ended up irritating him every shift- it was an occurrence that he’d grown used to. Maybe even a relief from the deadly robots around them._ _

__But what was so different this time? They would usually just “forget” about it after it happened, since something similar would always end up happening sooner or later. And Michael probably would have already- if it weren’t for the fact that Vincent hadn’t spoken at all for the past hour. He was just sitting on the desk, sometimes glancing at the monitor or staring off into space. Something was definitely off._ _

__But would he try and ask what it was about? He had other things to worry about in the moment- they were readily approaching 2 AM. The animatronics would be acting up more- he had to focus. And hopefully things would return to normal tomorrow night- whatever normal meant anymore._ _


	3. 1 A.M.

Things did _not_ , in fact, return to normal. Not a single version of normality was to be found after that night.

Sure, it had been a while since that specific night. A few weeks of “normal” night shifts had passed since then, and they had been perfectly fine.

But things were _not_ perfectly fine, deep down inside. Vincent could tell. Something had been off, and it wasn’t getting any better. Maybe the animatronics were finally getting to his head? Insanity was finally making him snap?

No. No, no, no. It was something different. Something new, even if it was linked to the pizzeria. Some sort of feeling. And he _had_ to figure it out.

Perhaps that was why he found himself coming to the office even earlier than before. As he walked through the doorway, he could see the time. Only 11:30 right now- even Scott wasn’t here yet. Just him, alone.

And the feeling hadn’t _quite_ returned yet, but with each passing minute, he could feel it starting to itch in his mind. Barely waiting for something- or someone.

Vincent needed some sort of explanation. The past few weeks had only fueled the feeling, whatever it was. He couldn’t figure it out on his own- part of him was considering just going to the doctor’s office and asking for information, as dumb as it sounded, even to himself. But who else could he ask?

Definitely not the other night guards, for sure. Jeremy would be too quiet for an actual conversation. Scott would probably just think he was joking or simply mad. And Michael… he couldn’t. Even though he would be the first choice, a more pressing section of his mind just refused to even consider it. Weirdly enough, the idea made the unknown feeling prick up its ears slightly.

Vincent gave a small sigh as he glanced back up at the clock. It was 11:48- he couldn’t be seen pondering like this. Hopefully he would get answers- although if this shift was going to be like any of the others, it would just confuse him even more.

He twisted around the knife in his hand, staring at the reflective metal. It was maddening, even more so than he already was, trying to figure this out. He dropped the handle onto the desk, leaning back in the chair half-heartedly.

“Please tell me that’s the only knife you brought.”

He turned his head, an instinctive grin splitting on his face. “Maybe, maybe not. You’ll never know.”

“Of course.” Scott muttered. He hurried on through the office, not looking back as he went through the other doorway.

 _Not talkative today, huh?_ Vincent stared at the darkness. _As if he ever really was._

Soon enough, he heard another set of quick footsteps pattering through the entrance, halting slightly as they reached the office. Grin widening slightly, he didn’t turn around, only reaching for the knife with a lazy hand. He could hear a small, intelligible squeak from the person behind him as he just gripped the handle. The footsteps resumed, even faster than before as they scurried on out.

He snorted as they disappeared. Jeremy had never liked being alone with him before, he supposed it was only to be expected. He was lucky that he stuck out his shifts with Scott, or else the kid would probably be dead and stuffed in a suit a long time ago.

_And that just leaves one more person left to arrive…_

Vincent didn’t have to ponder on it for long as a hand came down out of nowhere, swiftly taking away the knife. “No more.”

“Aw, come on, that’s the only one I brought today. I wasn’t even thinking about building another tower-”

“Don’t remind me of that, god.” Michael muttered. “ _I_ wasn’t thinking about that either, for your information.”

“Well, now we both are, so who’s fault is it?”

“Still your’s for bringing it up first.”

“...Give me back the knife.”

“No.” He gave a small smirk, backing away as he fully turned the chair around. “How about you go just one shift without a knife, huh?”

“How about no?” Vincent stood up, his grin beginning to widen. “Give it.”

“How about yes.” Michael put a hand on his hip, raising an eyebrow. “And don’t you _dare_ try and run at me when I have a knife in my hand.”

“I just might if you don’t give it back.”

“Oh, come on. There’s no way you don’t have another. I won’t believe it.”

“No more on me.” He crossed his arms. “Come on, just give it-”

“Turn out your pockets.”

“You really think I’d hide one in _these_? Only a pocket knife or switchblade would fit-”

“That just gives me reason to think that you _do_ have those.”

“Fine.” Vincent maintained his grin, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Absolutely _nothing_. Convinced yet?”

“Yeah, but I’m still not giving this back yet.” He shook his head. “But if you don’t put your knives in your pocket, how were you able to bring _six_ in all at once?”

“Oh, I didn’t bring them in.” He chuckled. He backed away towards the desk, tugging open a drawer with a flourish. “They’ve always been here.”

“Excuse me?” Michael walked over, glancing at the collection inside. “Why the _fuck_ would you think that’s a good idea-”

“Oh, come on. You still expect me to have _good ideas_?” Vincent shrugged. Suddenly, he lunged for the knife in his hand, grabbing for it. Michael jerked back, yanking it barely out of reach. However, the momentum ended up making both of them lose balance, sending them crashing to the floor.

“Fuck- ow-!” Michael hit the tiles on his back, hissing with pain as the knife clattered out of his hand. “Well, definitely not any _more_ , you fucktard-”

“Not my fault you backed away! I said I would try to get it back.” He grinned.

“You are such an asshole.” He muttered. “Well, you’ve got your knife back now, you-”

Vincent was barely listening to his words as he started to realize the position they’d fallen into. He was laying right over him, hands laying on both sides of his torso. There was barely a foot of space between them, all his facial features standing out as they laid there on the ground. The dark brown locks of hair now ruffled and laying against the tiles, sharp green pupils glaring up at him, skin a light tan even in the dim light-

“Are you even listening right now?” A sudden slap to the cheek reverted his attention back as he blinked. Michael huffed with annoyance. “For god’s sake, let me up already.”

“Oh right, I forgot.” He hid the thoughts with another maniacal grin, pushing away from the floor. It seemed to work, as he merely gave another eye-roll, muttering under his breath.

But Vincent nearly forgot to even pick back up the knife, staring at it as the thoughts spun in his head. Why was the feeling returning even stronger than before, why did it feel like his lungs couldn’t take in enough air, why was his face heating up so fast, why couldn’t he think past that-

“Going to put it back in the drawer or what?” He turned around to see Michael standing behind him, eyebrows raised. “It’s like your life depends on that knife or something.”

“Don’t separate a maniac from their weapons, Mikey. Rule number one.” Vincent smirked. “Because it never works.”

“That’s just because I’m not a cop.” He muttered. “I’m a night guard that survives killer animatronics. And speaking of that, it’s 12:10.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re becoming like Scott.” He dropped the knife into the drawer, shoving it closed.

“Please, I could never. At least Scott has standards.”

 _I know._ The words dried up in his mouth before he could even begin to say them, the unknown feeling returning almost violently. Vincent silently swallowed as he turned away to sit down in the chair, trying to keep his usual grin. The feeling now felt like it was starting to constrict his throat, sudden jabs of pain striking his chest. He picked up the monitor, flipping through the cameras to try and distract himself.

It felt like barbed wire suddenly snaking around his heart, slowly but surely sinking in. It couldn’t have been more different than how the feeling had been acting a few moments before as he had been getting off the floor- yet he knew that it was the same. He had to stifle his shallow breaths as blood rushed through his ears, the sharp pangs not fading for a second.

It died down after a long, tense while, but it hadn’t disappeared. It was far from gone, Vincent could tell by the ache. Every time he glanced back at Michael, the pricks of pain sprung back up for a moment again and he had to look away. He couldn’t put it out of his mind for long, always feeling it press back whenever he tried. Even as they neared the golden 6 AM, it hadn’t faded at all- if anything, it might have grown slightly stronger from when it started.

He was only fully distracted away from the hurt by the blinking clock, and the chime ringing out. Vincent set down the monitor, leaning back in his seat, releasing a breath. “And there goes another night.”

Michael stood up, stretching as he glanced at the darkness. “Finally, I get a weekend away from this god-awful place.” He glanced back for a moment. “See you on monday?”

“Yep.” Vincent couldn’t say much more beyond that, as the pain started to spike back up again. He had to stop himself from instinctively reaching for his own chest, keeping his arms limp and by his side, just starting to stand up from his chair. He watched Michael leave, walking through the doorway and down the hall.

“About time you headed home, Vincent.” Scott and Jeremy were walking through the other doorway, passing through the office.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just gotta… take all these knives home first.” He waved them off, beginning to open up the desk drawer. “Or else Mike will throw a fit again.”

“I think I just might as well too if you don’t.” The half-amused snort came from underneath the mask. “Well, see you next week.”

Jeremy didn’t say a word, only offering a fleeting, shy smile. Vincent watched them go, heading through the hallway as well. When he heard the swinging doors close behind them, he finally put a hand to his own chest, feeling the ache as his fingers passed over his heart. It wasn’t just an emotional pain anymore- it was real. He could feel the sharp pricks of physical hurt.

Carefully, he pulled his hands away, turning to the now-open drawer. Forcing his focus away from the pain, he took out each knife one by one, setting them on the desk. He stood up, pulling out the leather sack and putting them inside, slowly breathing in and out to try and ease the ache.

Just as he was turning around, slinging the bag over his shoulder, he halted. The pain spiked again, except this time it was forcing its way through his throat. Vincent doubled over as he coughed, the very effort feeling like his lungs were being shredded. He had to lean against the desk as he hacked, choking on something deep in his throat. It was a hard, unyielding lump, one he couldn’t dislodge no matter how hard he tried. The sack of knives clattered out of his grip as he tried to massage his throat, barely able to stay standing up. It felt like needles were sinking into his organs, he was all but _dying_ as he tried to get it out-

Finally, with one last choking cough, the lump was finally dislodged, and he retched it up, falling to his knees. His vision was blurry as he laid there, barely holding himself up with his arms. Vincent was barely aware of his own ragged breathing, trembling as he tried to gain a hold on his senses again. It was a while until the blood roaring in his ears subsided, and he carefully pushed himself off of his hands, still kneeling as he rubbed his neck, throat and chest still aching, even though the sharp pricks of pain were mostly gone.

Swallowing, he finally noticed what had been stuck in his throat, lying innocuously on the tiles. With shaky hands, he picked it up, trying to fully comprehend exactly just what was sitting in his palm.

A small, pale indigo flower, with soft, slightly wilted petals and a white center.


	4. 2 A.M.

The longer he stared at it, the more it felt like some sort of hallucination. This… he couldn’t _actually_ have just coughed up a flower, of all things. Let alone one that was still completely intact. This couldn’t be real. His insanity had to be playing tricks on him… right?

With a trembling finger, Vincent touched one of the petals, feeling the soft edge against his skin. He drew his hand across the blossom, letting it drift across.

It was real. Impossibly so, but… it was there, in his hands. He could see it, _feel_ it, completely innocent yet guilty of so much confusion.

He couldn’t even bring himself to start thinking of questions, shock numbing any last ache still in his body. Vincent started to stand up on shaky knees, taking in gulping breaths as he gradually remembered where he was. He picked up the knife bag off the floor as well from where he’d dropped it, still cradling the blossom in his palm as he walked towards the doorway.

He pushed open the swinging door with his elbow, walking towards his car with a mask of calm. He dropped the knife bag in the back, getting in and starting the engine with a single hand. All the while, the blue-tinted flower stayed put in his other hand, fist loosely closed over it.

Well, it looks like he was headed towards the doctor’s office anyways, even if it wasn’t for the reason he’d initially thought of. But then again, the feeling was part of this too, wasn’t it? It _had_ to be- there was nothing else that had caused the pain in the first place. Although, admittedly, coughing up flora was quite the leap right after the initial bouts of aches.

Soon enough, he found himself in front of a white-walled building, the sun rising away from the horizon as he stepped out of the car. He still hid the flower in his hand, letting the unnerving grin form on his face as he pulled open the door.

The place was completely empty, bar the singular person behind the front desk, tapping away at the computer. He set an elbow on the counter, clearing his throat slightly.

Their eyes flickered up at him for a mere second before they spoke. “Good to see you again, Vincent.”

“Yeah, yeah, same here.” He sighed. “Listen, I’m in a bit of a rush today, another mild emergency-”

“Richard’s only available to talk about in-depth human anatomy _after_ his shift is over, Vincent.”

“Not _that_ emergency, Scarlet.” He waved his hand dismissively. “This one’s… new. I should probably be a lot more concerned about it than I actually am, but-”

“Well, consider yourself lucky.” She still kept her eyes on the computer screen, not looking up once. “He’s no other patient at the moment, so he’ll be able to put up with you easily. Same room as always.”

“Thanks.” Vincent turned away from the desk. He sharply veered into the hallway to the right, shoes echoing down the marble floor as he made his way towards the very back. He passed by doors like a blur, glancing at his palm once to make sure the flower was still fine.

He could feel his grin start to fade as he neared the door, pace slowing to a walk as he stopped in front of it. With his free hand, he gave a knock, shoving his hand in his pocket and leaning back on one foot, waiting for the door to open.

It was a while until it finally did, rheumy eyes looking into his own maniacal ones. He gave a sigh, backing away and nodding. “What now? Another check on your sanity?”

“Well, no, but… yes?” Vincent followed him in, taking a seat in the swivel chair. “I mean, I should probably be reacting differently to what happened, but I’m not, so you can probably tell me what should be happening.”

“Again, hmm?” Richard pulled out a clipboard from a nearby shelf, flipping through the pages upon pages of notes, clicking his pen. “It’s quite early for you to be questioning your sanity.”

“It would be if it weren’t for my job.” He shrugged. “And, uh… that’s kind of the subject of the matter today.”

“The animatronics are finally making a breakthrough?”

“Could be, but I think it's something… a _lot_ different.”

“How so?”

He bit his lip for a moment, before hefting a sigh. “I’ll just cut to the chase- I coughed up a damn flower today.”

His pen paused as his grey pupils dilated slightly, staring at him over his glasses. “Did I mishear that?”

“I retched up a piece of flora, Richie-”

“So I didn’t.” Richard muttered. “Do you still have the flower?”

“Right here.” Vincent carefully opened up his palm, the indigo blossom flat on his hand. “I’m not fucking making this up, that came out of my throat, I _wish_ it was actually just a damn hallucination- but it’s not.”

“Oh dear.” He leaned forward, staring at the petals. Vincent moved to put it on the table, but Richard shook his head. “No, no- keep a hold of it. I’ve never seen this in person, but… oh dear god, this is… completely unprecedented.”

“You mean to tell me there’s been cases of people vomiting flowers before?”  
“I’ve heard of it- oh dear, oh _dear_ …” He raked a hand through his black hair. “They were cases that immensely intrigued me when I read them, but to have it actually happen- and to _you_ , of all people…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He watched him stand up from his chair, setting down the clipboard and walking back towards the shelf.

“If I can find the stories themselves, make sure that I’m getting this right… _oh dear…_ ”

“The fact that you keep on saying that makes me feel like I should be scared.” Vincent gave a slight chuckle. “Am I gonna die?”

Richard looked back at him sharply, a book now in his hands. “If I remember correctly… you _could_.”

The iron tone made him raise an eyebrow. He sat back down in the chair, hands vigorously flipping through the pages of the book. Vincent didn’t dare interrupt him as his fingers flew, eyes scanning each page. Although he wasn’t panicking by any means, there was a slight anxiety in him as he watched him watch so closely for… whatever he was looking for. Vincent waited, occasionally glancing back at the flower still sitting in his hand.

“I found it.” The dead tone made him lean forward, although Richard pulled the book away. “Wait a moment, I have to be sure… these were very abnormal cases.”

“And I’m already an abnormal being. There can’t be that many different cases of people coughing up flora, right?”

He sighed. “Unfortunately _not…_ as far as I know, the symptoms and causes of all the cases have been all but identical for those that had it. It’s nothing if not rare, but strange enough to have a name.”

“And what _is_ said name?”

Richard finally looked back up. “Have you ever heard about Hanahaki Disease?”

Vincent rolled his eyes. “Clearly not, else I wouldn’t have come here.”

“Let’s just begin with the basics.” He muttered, rubbing his temples. “ _Hanahaki Disease_ , put _simply…_ is a condition in which the victim’s lungs fill with flowers. It has been described as causing pain to the throat, lungs, heart, and general chest area, making victims cough up the flowers, causing pain as the victim tries to dislodge them.

“However, it doesn’t work, as the flowers will keep on growing. Between spasms of coughing up the flowers, the victim experiences aching in the same areas that only gets worse as time goes on.”

“That’s… a solid description.” Vincent said. “I mean, I don’t completely know about the pain getting worse or the amount of flowers, since I just coughed up the first flower, but… yeah, the aching and pain areas sound correct.”

“So far, yes.” Richard took off his glasses, an unreadable expression on his face. “But in terms of the cause… I’m much less sure with _you_.”

“Well, what _is_ the cause, then?”

He set the frames on the table, sitting back in his chair. “The major thing that stood out in all recorded cases of Hanahaki, _besides_ the flowers… was that it has been a general conclusion that, despite how unknown and unscientific it seems, Hanahaki Disease is _firmly_ caused by emotional factors. Specifically, _one_.”

“And… what’s that factor?”

Richard looked him dead in the eyes. “One-sided love. Unrequited, _romantic_ love.”

_Love?_

_Romantic… love?_

Suddenly, the flower in his hand grew heavy.

Vincent’s mouth was dry as any response he had started to think of disappeared. He could feel the ache in his chest turn back into sharp jabs of pain, making him instinctively clutch his chest as the world suddenly spun. He was barely aware of Richard leaning over to grip his arm, sternly yet calmly talking to him.

“Breathe, breathe, breathe. I thought it might cause another spasm… just keep on breathing.” 

He opened his mouth to speak, only to break off with a harsh cough. Pain laced through his throat as another lump rose in it, ripping through as he gagged on it. With wheezing breaths and sharp, hacking coughs, he collapsed against the table, vision finally clearing enough to see another blue flower in his palm.

“There you go, another flower. Keep breathing, it’s over now-”

“F-fucking _love_?” He choked out, still staring at the now two flowers. “How can _I_ , out of anyone-”

“Those were my thoughts.” Richard was still patting his back. “It wasn’t exactly something I expected from you either, but the flowers don’t lie.”

Vincent didn’t respond for a while, still breathing heavily. “That’s- it’s _got_ to be something else, I don’t-”

“Are you sure?” He muttered. “The fact that you started to cough right after I said the cause might state otherwise.”

“But-”

“Let me ask you this. _Have_ you been feeling strangely lately? And I mean completely out of _your_ ordinary. We already know your state of mind isn’t quite normal.”

He took in a deep breath. “I mean… there actually _is_ one, I guess… I was actually thinking about coming to your office for it, before the whole flower thing happened.”

“Describe it.”

“It’s strange… but comforting sometimes. Well, it was either calming or made my heartrate explode, there was no in between.” Vincent bit his lip in thought. “It kind of felt like- like I was actually kind of _sane_ whenever it acted up, like it was a step away from madness.”

“When did it start?”

“I don’t really know, I suppose it’s just been here for a few weeks… Seems to act up around the pizzeria, but it just keeps on growing.”

“The pizzeria?”

“Yeah… I still don’t get it.”

Richard was silent for a moment, now leaning back in his chair in thought. “I think, given your description and your state of mind… it _is_ love.”

He shook his head slightly. “But _how_?”

“That’s something only you can answer. But whomever it is, you’d better find out quick.” He reached over for his glasses. “From what the cases tell of, the flowers are the favorite color or favorite type of flower of the love interest, so that might help. But said cases _did_ already have an idea of who it was beforehand, while _you…_ ”

“I’m doomed.” Vincent muttered.

“It gets… _worse_ than that.” Richard put on his glasses. “Hanahaki Disease can only be cured through two ways, as seen through the cases. There is a very expensive, but doable surgery to remove the vines completely from the lungs and heart-”

“I doubt that’s an option for me.”

“I do as well. But the second one may be even harder.” He clasped his hands together. “The other way… is to get your love interest to reciprocate the feelings. Not just to say that they love you, or even a platonic bond. They must genuinely love you romantically as well.”

“...Maybe the first one, then.”

“It’s not so easy. The surgery will most likely work, although…” Richard sighed. “It gets rid of the romantic feelings as a side effect. For two out of the five recorded cases, that choice was made, and they never felt the same way about the former love interest again.”

Vincent swallowed, the lump in his throat not a flower, yet just as hard. “And if I do neither?”

“For two of the cases, they were unfortunate, and… they died, suffocating from the flowers. One after four months from their first flower, the other in a matter of weeks.”

His gaze trailed down to the flowers in his palm, the two blossoms staring back. He let go of a deep breath, a knot of uncharacteristic dread forming in his stomach.

“A hard decision, I know.” Richard murmured. “It’s hard to tell how long you truly have, as the time varies quite much.”

“No kidding.” An empty chuckle resonated from his throat. “Well… I should start by finding out who the unlucky fucker is, huh?”

“Do you have an idea yet?”

“There’s not a lot of options for me. And since it only acts up around the pizzeria…” He shook his head as the realization sunk into his mind. “I’m pretty sure it’s an even narrower choice.”


	5. 3 A.M.

A narrow choice that didn’t get any better as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon.

Vincent didn’t feel any better either- the weekend was nothing if not two days straight of torture. He could feel the aches getting worse, the small bowl of flowers on his nightstand gradually getting larger and larger. Hell, right before he’d gotten out of the car, he’d forced himself to hack up a blossom, just to get it over with before heading into the pizzeria.

And now… monday night, and another fight to survive was underway. Except for him, it was two fights instead. How was he going to subtly pose the question to each of them?

“Isn’t that a change of pace.” Michael glanced up from the monitor, already sitting down in the chair. “You’re _very_ close to being late.”

“Do tell, motherfucker.” He chuckled, ignoring the pricks of hurt that came with it. “But I’m still _not_.”

“You _almost_ were.”

“Like _you_ almost got torn apart by Chica a couple of weeks ago?”

“Shut it.” Michael snorted. “And you were just being a bitch that night.”

“I’m a bitch _every_ night. You can’t escape the bitchiness, Mike.”

“No, unfortunately I can’t.” He rolled his eyes. “And also, where the hell did all your knives go?”

“Oh, from the drawer?” Vincent waved his hand. “Took them out since you were complaining so much.”

“Seriously?” He set down the monitor. “ _You_ , out of _all_ these nights, actually _listened_ for once in your life?”

“Well, now, I could always just haul them all back-”

“No.” Vincent laughed, inwardly wincing at the stabs of pain in his chest. Michael shook his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“ _Vincent’s here?_ ” The walkie-talkie suddenly buzzed.

“Yeah, I hauled my purple self down here, so you’d better be grateful.” He scooped it up, smirking.

“ _Believe whatever you will._ ” A small cough echoed through the speaker, one that suddenly reminded him of the flowers in his chest. “ _I still find it hard to believe that you never got yourself landed in some sort of lab because of your pigmentation._ ”

“Oh no, I did.” Vincent shrugged. “Why do you think I’m so fucked up in the head? Probably would have been worse if I didn’t escape.”

“Wait, seriously?” Michael glanced up.

“ _Not that surprising, honestly._ ”

“Yeah, no. Not something I really think too much about, anyways.” He rolled his eyes. “I was probably the only speck of color in those white walls… purple’s probably always going to be my favorite color.”

“ _I suppose that makes… some level of sense._ ”

“How else do you get a favorite color?” Vincent leaned against the desk, forcing his body to relax despite his quickening heartbeat. “I mean, what’s _your_ favorite color?”

“ _You see it on my head every day. It’s just red._ ” Scott snorted. “ _Not that there’s any real backstory to it. I just always grew up around large plastic rotary phones._ ”

“But there you go!” He chuckled. “Right there. What about good ol’ Jeremy?”

“ _Yellow and green. But there’s nothing to it._ ” There was a moment of silence, and the sound of a door shutting. “ _Alright, time to get back on track for the rest of the night._ ”

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Vincent pressed the button, tossing the walkie-talkie back onto the desk. “It’s barely even 12:30.”

“You _know_ Scott. You know this place.” Michael said.

“Yeah, _yeah…_ ” He sat on the desk, swinging his legs. “But still.”

_Red, yellow, green._ It didn’t match, any of it. All the flowers he’d been coughing up were the opposite side of the spectrum- bluish, sometimes with hints of violet. Maybe it _wasn’t_ the pizzeria? Someone different? But if it was, he was probably even _more_ doomed than he’d first assumed…

“Do you remember anything from that lab?” The sudden question jolted him away from his aching lungs. “I mean, I don’t know when you escaped, but…”

“Oh, I remember, alright.” Vincent said dryly. “Literally my first memories, as far as I know… don’t even remember being taken there, or my parents. I know I was at least able to walk, but still. Pretty sure I was only six.”

“You’re not… bothered?”

“Probably would be if I had even an inch of sanity left after those years.” He stared off at the wall, forgetting about the pain in his chest for a moment. “They were never able to really figure out what was up with my coloring, despite all the syringes they stuck in my limbs everyday. Nothing but constant physical check-ups, faceless people in and out my so-called room every five minutes. The only thing I really know about my parents was through sneaking in on a call that one of the doctors were having with them… wasn’t pleasant at all.”

“What happened?”

“Refused to take me back in.” Vincent chuckled. “In fact, I later found out they’d already had another child at that time, just one year after I was taken to that lab. I spent a total of seven years there before finally escaping. Nothing but the kid with purple skin. Completely nameless, really. I actually never knew my birth name at all… doubt that I really had one. Sure wasn’t _called_ one.”

“Wait, then what-”

“After I ran away, I decided to make one for myself. Though legally, I still only have my parents’ last name… which I don’t want to keep at all.”

“No kidding.” He muttered. “That’s… well, no wonder you’re not the most mentally stable person out there. Did the lab or your parents ever… try to find you?”

“The lab tried. Didn’t, uh… didn’t get _too_ far, though.” Vincent flexed his fingers slightly. “Running away left me a tad violent.”

“And… oh.” The tone of his voice dropped slightly. “Isn’t that… when…”

“I killed? Yeah.” He leaned back, eyes trailing towards the ceiling. “Two guards. Just a sharp piece of glass, but…” His grip on the desk edge tightened. “I’d take going to court and spending three months in juvenile over another week in that so-called hospital any day.”

“Oh god.” Michael muttered. “Did you have _anything_? Or… any _one_?”

“Nope. Still no idea where my parents are, or my apparent non-purple sibling… not really interested in finding them anyways.” His grin faded before saying his next words, pangs of hurt suddenly springing up. “Honestly… this place is probably all I’ve got.”

It was a moment of silence between them, Vincent still staring off at the wall. His mind felt empty, devoid of any emotion.

Why had he done that? Suddenly just revealed his whole past to someone in a place like this? He didn’t need pity, he didn’t _want_ it- yet something had urged him to keep on going. His past didn’t even bother him, he had been honest about that- but his last sentence… What had been urging him to say _that_?

The feeling. Somehow it was the feeling that was fueling it, he could tell. But how? He still wasn’t quite willing to call it love, it wasn’t like it was actually aimed at…

Wait.

“That’s… a lot sadder than you might realize.” Michael murmured.

“Feeling sympathy for a murderer?” He joked.

He glanced up at him. “It’s really not fair to use that label on yourself so casually after what you’ve just said.”

Vincent gave a nervous chuckle, feeling the pricks of pain start to dig in again. “Still doesn’t bother me, you know. It’s been a long while since.”

He shook his head, staring back at the monitor. “If it never happened, then you might realize.”

Vincent felt a pang of guilt at his words, as well as a sudden increase in the ache around his heart. Biting his lip, he turned back to the switches next to the doorway, shining the light. Why did his chest feel even heavier than before? That sad expression Michael had given him… it made the pain spike as he silently took in deep breaths, trying to ease it.

Goddamn this disease… he just wanted the shifts to go back to normal, to be pulling the usual pranks every night. And yet, the feeling itself… he couldn’t quite bring himself to hate it.

And speaking of it…

“You know… I never found out what your favorite color is.” He forced himself to have an even tone, sauntering back over to the desk calmly.

“Mine?” Michael sounded surprised. “Well… I’m tempted to say blue, since that’s been my favorite for a long time, but…”

“Light blue or dark blue?” His heartbeat quickened, along with the pain.

“Darker blue. But…” He bit his lip. “I think the color I’m thinking of is a bit different.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s… not _quite_ blue… what was the name? It’s a bit further- oh.” He nodded. “Indigo. That’s my favorite color.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it used to be just blue, but I think it’s actually indigo. You know, blue with a bit of violet mixed in. Not completely sure why, but it is.”

“Interesting.” Vincent was forcing his voice not to break, lungs suddenly constricting with pain. He said nothing else as he sat back down on the desk, each breath and beat of his heart aching as he felt the flowers flutter in his lungs.

No option would be enough, the realization sinking into his head as the world spun slightly around him. He had to force away the flowers trying to rise up his throat, silently choking on the feeling threatening to make him collapse.

How could it actually be _him_? The person that could barely stand him? The person that he pulled pranks on all the time? The person that knew he was an insane murderer?

_But the same person that pushed you out of harm's way, the person that persists through every night with you, the person that lets you do all your antics, the person that doesn’t care that you were an insane murderer…_

Fuck.

It really _was_ love.

Vincent had fallen in love with Michael.


	6. 4 A.M.

Vincent numbly stared at the glass bowl, each floating indigo blossom challenging what little will he had left. With a trembling hand, he poured in four fresh flowers from inside from his palm, his whole body shuddering with the ragged breaths he forced himself to take in.

The phone in his other hand felt heavier as he slowly turned his attention to it, staring at the blank screen. Two missed calls from Richard… no doubt wanting a check-up, wanting to see if he’d found out or chose an option. He hadn’t gone back to the private office at all after that first day. Perhaps because of the immense pain, the idea of having to make such a choice, or his growing numbness… or all three.

He couldn’t keep on doing this. Every shift, every night, every time he glanced at _him…_ his chest throbbed with the endless pain. In the weeks that had passed, the grins, the laughs, the calm composure… it all grew thinner and thinner in his weakening attempt to cover up the hurt ripping through his whole being.

Vincent set down the phone, standing up from his bed and walking towards the door. He soon found himself standing in front of a sink, slowly twisting the faucet handle. He barely felt the cold water splashing on his hands, too lost in the sharp aches and dullen thoughts.

The choice. The choice, the choice, _the choice…_ He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking about it every morning that he laid in bed, trying to fall asleep and have some rest away from the pain. The two options… it was impossible to say which one was harder than the other.

With the low pay that the pizzeria gave, there was no way he’d be able to afford such a surgery. He’d be saddled with debt, probably never be able to pay it off… and be left even worse off than he already was. And as irrational as it was… the idea of giving up the feelings that he held… he couldn’t do that. Which probably just proved how doomed he was. But he just couldn’t bring himself to consider it.

Yet the other option… it made such an uncharacteristic guilt settle in his heart. Try to make Michael return the feelings? As if he would ever be able to manage anything near. Perhaps they were fairly close after sharing such a night shift for over nine months… but it was just close enough to never be reciprocated. And he couldn’t even try to make him romantically love him back… it wasn’t right. Vincent might have had a twisted mind… but the idea still made his stomach clench in such guilt.

The one time he grew a heart, only to have it stolen away…

He shook his head, finally turning off the faucet as he trudged back to his room. Just thinking about Michael made the flowers start to grow, pain stabbing his chest.

How long did he even have left before he died? Vincent would probably be able to find out if he visited Richard again… but he didn’t want to have to make the choice. He couldn’t bring himself to at the moment.

He glanced at the clock. 11:30… he was lucky it was saturday and there wasn’t a shift in half an hour. Vincent could just lay here, slowly wasting away in his indecision and pain. How lucky he was.

How lucky he was…

He swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat that wasn’t a flower. A small, bittersweet smile curled up on his lips. Then again… how many people could say that they loved someone so much that their heart physically hurt? His first and probably only legitimate experience with love, and it was fatal. So twistedly fitting… but in an oddly beautiful way, as he stared at the ceiling. Vincent would never have thought that after scooping up that broken wine bottle in that alleyway, trembling as his teenager self faced down those two security guards, that he’d end up finally feeling emotions. Hell, even his willingness to go to court and accept those few months of reconstruction- if he hadn’t gotten transferred around, he might have never met Michael at all.

And only he knew it. He hid his disease from all the other night guards- Richard was still the only person that knew of his ailment. It was getting harder to cover it up, it really was. Even after a month, the pain stung fresh all the time, one that always managed to hit where it hurt the most- right on his heart.

Would Vincent ever reveal it? He could barely imagine suddenly telling Scott or Jeremy, let alone Michael himself. The very thought caused the ache to spike up, making him wince. But then again… how long did he have before he would be forced to hold his silence forever?

With a sigh, he pushed himself off of the bed, standing up despite the tangs of pain. He stumbled over to the writing desk in the corner, distractedly digging out a piece of paper, alongside a dark pen. He set them down, slowly taking a seat and flicking on the lamp. After a brief moment of staring at the blank, white page, he scooped up the pen, beginning to write.

After the first paragraph, Vincent suddenly halted, feeling a flower rise up in his throat. Dropping the pen, he coughed it up, shaking his head to push away the agony. He kept pushing through, each inky letter making the sharp stabs of pain multiply. Soon enough, he was hacking up another blossom, falling onto the paper. Undeterred, he swept it aside, keeping his hand moving to the next line.

He could finish this. Vincent _had_ to finish this- it was too late to stop the words from pouring out into the paper. Each breath was more ragged, more pained than the last. But he was almost there, he could feel it. He had to make all these new flowers count.

Finally, he drew his trembling hand back from the jet-black letters, eyes numbly scanning the words. His pen clattered onto the desk, and he let out a long sigh, leaning back in the chair. There was a small pile of swept-aside indigo petals next to the paper. He carefully scooped them up, standing up from his chair and carrying them over to the bowl of water, shaking them into the rest of the blossoms. Swallowing, Vincent walked back over to the piece of paper, picking it up.

Was he really going to make this choice? Was this the option he was choosing?

_There never was a choice. This is the only thing I would ever do._

Holding that paper in his fingers, he barely felt the stabs of pain in his chest, compared to the bittersweet love just underneath the petals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter than usual, but rest assured...  
>  _It was for the best._


	7. 5 A.M.

Michael sighed as he sat in the car seat, hands still resting on the wheel. Twisting the keys, the engine came to a halt, the chain dangling on his fingers for a moment. Shoving them into his pocket, he opened the door, getting out and making his way towards the sidewalk. The sky was devoid of any moon, the sidewalk barely lit by the twinkling stars far above. But he still found his way to the swinging doors easily, pushing it open.

However, as soon as he took a step inside, he paused. Something was… off. He could hear a familiar pair of voices from down the hallway, coming from the first office.

“-can’t call them. The police could never do a thing in a place like this- they have no power _here_.”

“But there’s only a few minutes before they’ll be active. What if this was actually from them? Maybe they’re already up and this is another victim!”

“I know. That’s the most plausible, and it’s probably true. But if we can wait for the others to arrive, then we can make a definite decision.”

“Decision about what?” Michael finally got to the doorway, poking his head in. Inside were Scott and Jeremy, the latter flinching as he spotted him. “What happened now?”

Jeremy glanced at Scott for a moment, gulping. “Should I say?”

“I’ll do it.” He sighed. “There’s a trail of blood that seems to lead from this office and deeper into the pizzeria.”

“Wait, _what_?” Scott stepped to the side, revealing, indeed, a thin, scarlet drip of blood that started from just within the left doorway, stretching into the darkness beyond.

“I discovered this when I arrived, about twenty minutes ago.” He scratched his mask. “I shined the light, and as far as I could see, it keeps on going through the hallway. I’m not sure where it ends… but I wasn’t willing to try and explore until everyone else arrived.”

“I _still_ don’t think that’s a good idea.” Jeremy muttered. “The animatronics are going to wake up at any moment, and I don’t want to be stuck in the darkness with them.”

Michael bit his lip. “I’d have to agree with that… waiting it out is probably the best we can do right now. Vincent’s not here yet?”

“Not as far as I’m aware.” Scott replied. “We’re not able to tell where the blood trail leads through the cameras either, since it’s still very dark. We haven’t even tried going to our office.”  
“We thought about calling the police too… but with this business, it’s… _really_ not worth the effort.”

“Duly noted.” Michael glanced around. “So… I suppose we’ll all just stay in here?”

“That’s the plan.” Scott nodded. “ _Perhaps_ , when the shift ends, we’ll turn on all the lights in the building and follow the trail… but for now, we’ll wait it out in this single office.”

_Vincent’s going to have a field day with this._ He didn’t say the thought out loud, but he felt the smile tug at the corners of his mouth. His antics were the whole reason that they’d separated into the two offices, hadn’t it been?

But when the clock finally showed 12 AM, no grinning purple face had come sauntering down the hallway. No silvery eyes sparkling with madness, no lazy voice coming through the doorway, nothing.

“We’d better get ready for anything.” Scott said grimly. “If all that blood was actually caused by the animatronics… chances are they’ll be more aggressive.”

“Vincent’s still not here yet.” Michael muttered.

“He’ll show up when he does. But for now, we need to focus on ourselves.”

He sighed as he picked up the monitor, sitting on the desk as he started to flick through the cameras. Jeremy took the chair, while Scott remained standing, leaning against the wall. Michael shifted on the desk, the silence foreboding as the minutes ticked by. There was still no sign of Vincent, nothing at all… despite the fact that he’d always done shifts in this office, it felt strangely uncomfortable and crowded without him.

_Great, Michael, now you’d rather spend time around a convicted murderer instead of two normal, sane people. The pizzeria’s really done a number on your own mind, huh?_

He shook away the nagging thought. Vincent was far from just a murderer. He’d been thinking about what he’d told him last Friday, about his traumatic childhood all weekend. Even if he wasn’t bothered by it… part of Michael felt a touch of sympathy.

“Do you… think he might have done it?”

The sudden whisper from Jeremy broke the silence, Michael glancing up. “What?”

He nodded at the line of blood. “I mean… we can’t tell by the cameras, and… he hasn’t shown up, so… maybe this is from another victim?”

“Well… that would make sense.” Scott muttered. “Perhaps he just got sloppy and forgot to clean up.”

Jeremy shuddered. “I don’t think I _ever_ want to head back down there if he’s started killing again-”

“No.”

Both of them looked at Michael with a surprised expression- well, he assumed it was a surprised expression underneath Scott’s mask too. “W-what?”

“I don’t think…” He sighed. “It just wouldn’t really make sense for him to start killing again after so long.”

“Really?” Scott said. “You _know_ how he is in the head-”

“I _do_ , but…” Michael bit his lip. “I thought he was actually kind of… getting better, for a while. I know he got convicted for murders, but… he hasn't actually _harmed_ anyone ever since that single incident. He stopped bringing in knives, the drawer’s been completely empty the last time I checked, and he just… seemed more calm.”

A tense silence befell them after his last words, Michael still keeping his eyes fixed on the tiles. The hours went by slower than ever, mingled worry and guilt settling over his head.

He had been honest, hadn’t he…? He didn’t think that Vincent would suddenly start acting up again. The past few weeks of shifts had been oddly calm. Still with the usual pranks and banter, but somehow… mellowed out. Almost as if he was regaining a ghost of his sanity. He hadn’t realized how much he’d filled up the atmosphere during all the shifts- always so relaxed and mischievous, even if he was a bit mental as well. Michael hadn’t ever thought he would miss the touch of madness he always brought, and yet… he’d take any jokes about the trail of blood from his grinning purple face at the moment.

_“Did they have that bad of a memory that they needed a trail to not get lost?”_

A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he imagined it. Of course, he’d have such disturbing and cynical things to say… but he would welcome it, especially in a job like this.

He was jolted out of the thoughts by the door shutting on a metal face. Michael glanced up at the clock. Only 3:27? It felt like the sun should have been fully up already.

Vincent. That was the answer to why the shift was crawling by so slowly.

He tried to pass by the hours with the monitor, but it was all but impossible. It was too tense, too strange. He didn’t even look back at the clock again, only waiting for the bell to chime and the lights to turn on. _Where’s the insanity when you need it, huh?_

_Ding!_

Finally. Michael snapped his head up, slowly watching the lights come to life outside the office, flooding the hallways. He slipped off the desk, watching Scott raise the shut doors.

“Here we go.” Michael sighed, stepping through the doorway.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this…” Jeremy muttered.

“I’ll be right behind you. Just keep moving.” Scott stated.

As he first glanced at the trail, he could see it stretching through the whole hallway. “Okay… it goes pretty far.”

“H-how far?”

“It goes past the whole hallway.” Michael started to walk next to it, stepping around the scarlet liquid. It wasn’t just a trail- he could see it smeared along the path, vague handprints splattered into the blood. It only widened as they followed it, turning through the hallway.

Suddenly, he halted, eyebrows knitting in confusion as he turned the corner. “Wait… what the hell?”

“What is it?”

“There’s a… flower in the blood.”

It sat there innocuously, the deep blue petals shining with the scarlet liquid. Michael bent down next to the limp blossom. He reached for it for a moment, before drawing his hand back.

“Seriously?” Scott walked up next to him. “What’s a flower doing _here_?”

“No idea… it could have dropped from their pocket I guess, but… there’s no stem, and-”

“W-wait, guys?” Jeremy stuttered, pointing further down the hall. Michael glanced up, following his hand. There, the blood veered underneath a shut door.

“That’s our office.” He whispered. “Oh god…”

“And there’s more flowers along it out here.” Michael was walking towards the door, glancing at the trail. “What even…”

“Wait, check the window first.” Scott said. “In case if they’re inside.”

Michael nodded, turning away from the flowers as his gaze finally fell through the pane of glass-

He froze. He could feel his heart stop for a solid minute as he saw where the trail stopped. It was smeared even more, running toward the desk, more flowers speckled with the scarlet liquid… but he barely cared about that, as he stared at what lay beneath the desk.

A body laid there, a hand slick with blood fallen on the tiles.

But even the blood couldn’t cover up the purple skin underneath.

_No._

The world blurred as that thought rang out in his head, hand finally reaching for the door handle, shoving it open as his legs finally moved, running towards the desk, heart hammering as he collapsed to the floor, not noticing the red stains getting on his clothes, he didn’t _care_ , all that mattered was- _was_ -

He choked on a cry as he saw him, laying there, silver eyes shut, limp in the shadows of the desk, flowers scattered around his corpse, the blood was cold, his hands were so stiff and light, he tried to blink away the tears that were beginning to fall, hoping to see something else than what was laying in front of him, but no matter how hard he tried-

It was him. _It was still him._

Michael barely noticed someone wrapping their hands around him, dragging him away, talking in his ear. “Michael- _Michael_ , wait- you _need_ to calm down for a moment, _hold on_ -”

“He- he’s right _there_ -”

“I know, I know- breathe for a second, Michael, come on.” Scott’s voice was gentle but firm. “You need to get up for a moment, just keep breathing, Jeremy’s calling the police, just come on.”

“I can’t-”

“There’s nothing we can do. Come on, keep breathing, it’s going to be fine.”

He gulped, still breathing heavily, choking on the lump in his throat. He would have collapsed back onto the ground if Scott hadn’t maintained his grip, holding his trembling body. His heart was still ringing out in his ears, vision still blurry as he pulled him away, backing slowly out of the room.

“T-they’re on their way, Scott-”

“Good. Come on, let’s go ahead and wait outside, they’ll be able to meet us there. Michael?”

“I-I don’t think he can hear you, I think he’s in a shock…”

“Michael, can you hear me?”

He finally raised his head a bit, giving a small nod.

“Okay, I’m going to let go of you. Can you stand?”

Another small nod.

“Alright, just keep looking forward. It’s going to be okay.”

He finally felt the arms release, wobbling for a moment as he leaned against the wall. “I-”

“It will be fine, I promise.” Scott said. “Come on, keep walking. We’re right here.”

Slowly, carefully, they started to make their way down the hallway, Michael still looking at the floor. The blood trail kept forcing its way into his line of sight, making the images ring out in his head.

“Keep going. You’ve got this.”

But he didn’t have it, he could feel his vision starting to slip away, the thoughts crowding his mind with each step. His limp body, the smears of blood, his cold hands, the _flowers…_

It was one thought too much as his body caved in to the shock, legs buckling underneath his next step as he fell to the floor, not even feeling the tiles before the world around him went dark.


	8. 6 A.M.

He stared at the blossoms, swimming in the clear water, indigo petals scattered throughout the glass bowl. In his hand was an open piece of paper, covered in inky words. Despite the sun starting to rise outside, piercing through the blinds, he remained in the dim light.

A knock at the closed door. He didn’t respond, only setting down the letter besides him on the bed.

“Michael… it’s time.”

With a ragged sigh, he picked up the bowl out of his lap, slowly carrying it over to the nightstand. He looked at them longingly for a moment. They all seemed so _fresh_ , so _beautiful…_ it was hard to believe that they were over a month old, let alone that they had been made in such a terrible way. He picked up the small set of flowers laying besides the bowl, holding them loosely in his fingers as he walked towards the door.

He slowly opened it up, nodding slightly at the two people standing outside. He walked past them, through his house and towards the open front door. He briefly shut his eyes as he stepped out into the early morning sunlight, before taking a breath and continuing to walk. He opened the car door, glancing back at the two again.

“We’ll be right behind you.” Scott spoke calmly. Jeremy gave a tiny nod.

“Yeah… alright.” Michael stepped inside, starting up the engine. He gently set down the flowers next to him, trying not to glance over.

Soon enough, he was heading down the road, turning into an unknown area of the town. He finally spotted the fence, surrounding dozens upon dozens of stones, engraved lettering sitting on each one.

Finally, he parked the car, scooping the bouquet back up as he got out. Scott and Jeremy were stepping out of their own ride, walking towards the gate. Michael joined them, pushing open the metal bars.

Near the back, a large sycamore tree stood in the soil, the branches spread around the air. He made his way there, not glancing at the others anymore. He stepped around the gravestones, his grip on the flowers tightening as he got closer.

Finally. He set a hand on the tree trunk, peering around the back, out of view from the rest of the graves. Sure enough, a white stone sat there, nestled by the roots of the tree poking through the soil. As he looked at it, he could see the name engraved deep.

_Vincent Scourge, 1958-1985_

He breathed out a small sigh of relief upon reading it. It was good that his request to alter the name had gone through. He’d always be Vincent to him, no matter what sat upon the legal records.

“They got it right?” Scott joined him, blue eyes filled with a calm sadness.

“They did.” He replied. “It’s all good.”

“I’m glad.” Scott glanced at him for a moment before setting down a single black rose upon the stone. “He would like it much more than his legal last name.”

“He sure would.” Michael gave a dry chuckle. “Never did like following the law, huh?”

“Definitely not.” He gave a small smile. “But with the job that we all shared… he was quite the relief every night.” He stood back from the gravestone, backing away.

“I wish I hadn’t been so scared of him.” Jeremy mumbled, twisting his own flower in his hands.   
“He was just… unfortunate, but I just forgot that we shared the same job, and we did the same things…”

“You don’t need to be guilty about this.” Scott said gently. “Although I wish things could have turned out differently… perhaps this was for the best. For all of us.”

Jeremy gave a small nod, setting down his flower. “Still… he wasn’t _just_ an insane person, and… I guess I wish I could have seen that and shown a bit more… sympathy.”

“We all do.” Michael sighed. “Even all those damn acts that he would pull… hell, we were all driven to this place since we came from nothing. We came here because we hit rock bottom… but he was the only one that was trying to not stay so low.”

“We did.” Scott murmured. “It definitely wasn’t… an average working relationship that we built in there.”

“A friendship built on surviving haywire animatronics every night.” He gave a hollow laugh. “I still remember what he told me that Friday, before we… _found_ him, and that conversation about his past.”

“He said more about it?”

“He… said that he really had no one. He was sent to a lab as a kid, and… he doesn’t even remember his parents. His first memories were of that place, he grew up in social isolation. He never had anyone or anything, not even himself… he wasn’t ever given a name.”

“So that’s why you put in that request.”

“Yeah.” Michael swallowed. “He found out his parents didn’t want to take him back in after learning the scientists couldn’t figure out his skin color. He escaped after five years, didn’t know how to integrate into society, didn’t have a sense of humanity… had to build up his own life alone and shunted.

“And the worst thing is just that… he wasn’t bothered by it. He kept on telling me he didn’t care, that it was just some setbacks to him now…” He took in a shaky breath. “He was just conditioned to be twisted, and he didn’t… fully realize it. Because he’d never known anything else.”

The air was silent afterwards. Michael barely noticed that he was now kneeling in front of the stone, staring numbly at the letters. With a trembling hand, he finally put his own flowers on the soil, the violet roses standing out against the white stone.

“I never… I wondered _why_ he was the way he was sometimes, but I… don’t think I ever would have guessed all of that.” Jeremy’s whisper was quiet, but it stood out in the silent air.

“I wouldn’t have known either unless I asked him.” He said. “When I did… he just told me everything, wasn’t trying to hold back or anything… he was just so relaxed to talk about such a disturbing part of his life, and I… just…”

“He was more than a maniac.” Scott stated.

“He was so much more than a maniac.” Michael repeated. _Much more than anyone else will ever know._

“While the circumstances that brought the four of us together were… _unfortunate_ , to say the least, the companionship was much more than I ever would have expected in such a dark place.” Scott said.

“Kind of ironic how even though he’s partially the reason that it’s so dark, he also brought it back up, huh?” He sighed.

“He did.” Jeremy clasped his hands together tightly. “Maybe that’s _why_ he tried to bring it back up.”

“I can believe that.” Michael chuckled, still staring at the stone. _I definitely can._

“Farewell to an old friend, even if I didn’t find him to be too friendly.” Scott murmured.

“Y-yeah...”

Michael nodded slightly. “You two… can go ahead, I have a bit more that I just… want to say alone.”

“Do you want us to just wait at the cars?”

He shook his head. “No need to stay any longer… I’ll be able to get back home on my own. Thanks for… for coming, even if it’s just us three.”

“Of course.” Scott nodded, Jeremy giving a small wave. They headed out from the tree, walking towards the gates. Michael only watched them for a moment before his eyes drifted back to the stone.

He bit his lip, swallowing deeply. There was so much to say, so much to do… but it would all come too late. A week too late to save him- to love him.

“I’m sorry.” He started, reaching out a hand to touch the soft petals of the flowers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. You might be fine with dying of a broken heart… but I wish you had chosen the surgery.”

He sighed. “Or if… I could have fallen in love. It’s… impossible now, I know that, but… maybe things could have worked out in the best way. Either way, I… just wish that I didn’t have to find out about your feelings like this.

“But I won’t forget. Any of it. I don’t think it’ll ever leave my memory… it just feels like it’s impossible, you know? I still can’t completely get over why you would have fallen for me, out of anyone… what did I ever do, other than be there?

“Maybe that’s why.” Michael murmured. “If your past was anything to go by… all the pranks I put up with, all those antics… They were good times. For both of us. It’s still hard to believe that there won’t ever be those moments again, and all my nights will be spent in silence now… you really did light up the place, you know? You… you lit up me, too.

“The knife tower… finding the collection in the drawer… locking me out of the office when I was late… you sure brightened up the nights in your own way.” He gave a sad chuckle. “Maybe if I’d found out about your disease earlier… but it’s over now.”

He wiped at his eyes, feeling the tears rolling down. “But even if I don’t love you in that way… you were still a great friend to have all those nights. I’ll keep a hold on that letter, and those flowers… I’ll always remember. I promise.”

His shoulders slumped for a brief moment, before he slowly started to stand up. He didn’t even bother to wipe off the dirt on his pants, giving the stone a long, bittersweet look, before stepping out from behind the tree. Michael made his way down back towards his car, the pricks of grief and sadness still holding on. But he took it all in with a deep breath, stepping through the gate, gently shutting it behind him, the sun rising above the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And yet the day's only just begun..._


End file.
